


Playin’ With the Boys

by Shatterpath



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: M/M, Male Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-07
Updated: 2005-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:50:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The chief is feeling tense and Helo, sympathetic to how he feels, finds a way to mutually relieve the stress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playin’ With the Boys

**Author's Note:**

> This is so not my usual fare, but I wrote it for my best friend, solely to prove that I was capable of it. And, it's yet another taboo off my internal tally. Just plain old smut just for the sake of smut.

Tense, tense, tense.

I was always so frakkin’ tense! Like a coiled serpent in my belly, the stress and fear lay coiled and hungry. Only the work kept me sane. Work ‘till I was ready to drop, drink the foul, medicinal moonshine, and sleep in stupefied darkness.

I couldn’t handle dreaming anymore.

Clear and probably deadly, the hootch in the jar seemed to mock me, and my stomach was grumbling irritably. When was the last time I’d eaten? Like a hallucination, the smell of fried potatoes wafted past my nose, and I scented at it like a stray dog.

“You want it?”

The voice was totally unexpected, and I stared blankly at Helo, at the plate in his hand.

“I got two things to say to you, Chief. You need food and you need to relax. I can do both, because whether we like it or not, you and me got to keep an eye out on each other, y’know?”

My head was nodding, my mouth flooded with saliva, my belly whining, and my cock stirring in my coveralls from all the stimulation. The plate was suddenly in my hands, and I attacked it like a starving man, the hot potatoes and cooking grease easing at least one of the aches. With a crash and a curse, Helo blocked the door, and I was blinking at the empty plate. Hope my belly didn’t object to the fact that I wasn’t completely convinced that I’d actually chewed anything.

“Now,” he demanded, tall and slim in that familiar flight suit, angular features brooking no argument. “Lean back and pull the zipper down.”

Stunned, I found myself half-obeying, the bunk barely padded against my back and ass. Kneeling, Helo matter-of-factly grabbed the zip, and it hissed towards that snake rising in my pants.

“Wait,” I stammered faintly, trapped in this strange limbo where nothing seemed quite real. “What the frak?”

His look was pity in all its forms. “Didn’t you go to boot camp? Shit, man, the best blow jobs I ever had were decompressing while the military broke us down and built us up again. Now shut up. Close your eyes if you have to, don’t matter to me.”

The stiffening shaft of my cock felt the cool air, looked pale and strange against the metallic sheen of his flight suit. Too shocked to do anything more than stare, I watched him wrap one strong hand around my hardness, my nerves squealing in shock.

“Well, you still work,” he chuckled and I threw my head back as he swallowed the whole length of it, right down to the filthy orange fabric of my work clothes. It was a feeling of homecoming, that heat, the scrape of teeth, the suction that made my hips rise off the bunk. Gods, but he had a nice mouth on him, strong and sensitive, tongue snaking over the thick vein on the underside of my cock, and probing at the wet hole at the tip. One big hand wormed into my pants, cupped my poor, startled balls and kneaded them to attention.

It only took a few strokes of Helo’s mouth and throat to make me lose it, cum building up like a wave, making me yell in the near-pain of the explosion as I shot deep down his gullet. He stayed with me, suckling out the last traces of pleasure and cum, before I was unceremoniously grabbed, flipped onto my stomach, hips grabbed until my legs fell off the side, leaving me kneeling there, facing the wall.

I couldn’t help but groan as he rubbed his steely cock against my vulnerable ass, an obscene gesture. “May I?” He asked calmly, pulling my wrists back, slipping away my orange armor, smoothing a caressing hand down my back.

One finger slithered between my tense asscheeks, damp with my own sweat, and my cock started pushing against the hard metal edge of the bunk. Some animalistic grunt rumbled up from my chest as that finger teased over my asshole, stroking lightly, tongue-like.

Frakkin’ hell… then his actual tongue repeated the maneuver, swirling over that sensitive rosebud, reminding me of all the simple, carnal pleasures of bootcamp and my fellow male soldiers. It never really meant anything but a good time, tight muscles squeezing every drop of good feeling from a hard cock.

“Do it,” I grunted, hearing the stiff rustle of the flight suit, guts tense with anticipation of the pleasure/pain.

Helo didn’t disappoint, spitting obscenely, his saliva warning of what was coming, a fingernail brushing over my asshole in a last warning before something bigger and blunter was there, knocking on my back door. “Ready?” he ground through clenched teeth, a raw, animalistic sound, and I pushed back, increasing the pressure.

“Do it, you frakkin’ bastard,” I snarled, wanting that thick pressure, his rigid cock coaxing past my body’s natural resistance, finding that magic spot deep inside. Helo didn’t disappoint, but masterfully used his thumbs, spreading my asscheeks until the pressure hurt, pulled at my beleaguered asshole, and the head of his cock began the process of stretching me, preparing me for his length.

I could only moan and stretch my legs, not wanting to move my hips in fear of dislodging that blissful invader, the long shaft of him easing past the reluctant tight and into that deep place inside. He was a nice size, really making me feel it without making my guts cramp from the pressure. Not like that frakkin’ squad captain years back…

Sensing my distraction, Helo slid slowly home, held there for a long moment, grunted, “hold on,” pulled halfway out and slammed home like a combat landing under fire. That was all the warning I had, as he began to piston, gaining speed, rasping that sweet spot with the helmet of his dick, making me moan with the pleasure of the visceral sensation.

I was hard again, no shock, as I was being well and truly frakked, and my new buddy reached underneath me to roughly grab my cock, stroking me in time to his hard thrusts. “C’mon,” he grunted in time to his hips. “C’mon!” His hand was clenched in the bedding beside my ear, he was grunting hot and steamy against my naked neck, sweat dripping onto my skin. It was over too soon, the pulsing pressure of him shooting, my ass squeezing him until he made the funniest high-pitched noise and half-collapsed on me. “Hell, chief, you got a grip on you. Let me catch my breath,” he panted, his voice falling gradually a half-octave until he sounded more like himself. To be perverse, I kept the lock on his softened dick, liking the heft of it in my ass. “Yeah, like that,” he whispered. “Keep that up, and I’ll be frakkin’ you again.”

And damned if he didn’t, lasting long enough the second round that I knew I would be sore for days. Then I managed to get my legs under me, and bodily throw him against a nearby counter, kick his legs apart, bringing his lanky height closer to mine. He was so sweaty, that all I had to do was run both hands over his chest and belly to get my own erection nice and wet.

My fingers would leave bruises where I gripped his hips and ribs as I slid home and wallowed in the heat of him. It didn’t matter what the frak we were doing, that we were enemies yet allies of a sort.

The tension for the moment, was gone.


End file.
